


Buffet

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Cable and Deadpool
Genre: M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rimming, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21589357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: Nathan Summers has a bad habit of popping in and out of the timeline and running himself ragged. Wade only cares because being the one Nate comes to when he needs to rest is good for his ego.
Relationships: Nathan Summers/Wade Wilson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 195





	Buffet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reyiosa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reyiosa/gifts).



> Ladysassafrass requested "beard!cable giving wade love and attention" along with a few details. I hope this'll do.

It’s not entirely out of the norm for Nate to disappear for some improbable stretch of time and show back up looking way more exhausted than a couple days should excuse. Well, once in a great long while be might be gone a few weeks, but that didn’t happen often, and it was a roll of the dice if he came back beat to shit and on the edge of exhaustion, or weirdly perky and refreshed. 

Time travel shit, Wade guesses. He doesn’t really know. Doesn’t particularly care, either, because usually what it means is bullying the stubborn asshole to sit down before he falls down, and that wasn’t easy at the best of times. More often than not, Nate disappears to go play time cop and shows back up dirty and banged up and tired among people as obsessed with heroics as he is, who will nod and smile about how tough and determined he is when he says he wants to grab a shower and get back to work.

Only when he’s really at his limit does he show up and look for Wade. Wade flatters himself to think that’s because he knows Wade will knock him on his ass if he has to, but honestly he knows it’s even draw these days on who wins when they start brawling. 

Wade generally doesn’t try to pick a fight when Nate shows up out of the blue, usually doesn’t even complain much unless he’s just finished a rough job of his own. What he usually does is find a place for Nate to lay down, and then badgers him until he gives in and occupies that space. Wade isn’t a great nurse, he doesn’t have any interest in being one, but he can lead a sleepy Nathan to bed and keep him there until he looks less like warmed up death.

He does not do this altruistically. Wade Wilson does not have an altruistic bone in his body, especially not where Nate’s concerned. 

Most times, once Nate gets some sleep and a little food, he wants a shower and a fuck. The order of those last two are inconsistent, and Wade has no strong opinions on the matter. There’s plenty of merit and very little to detract from either option, and being as Wade put him up, Nate always lavishes attention on him, kisses him like he’s missed doing it, touches like he can’t get enough.

It’s flattering. Real ego stroke kind of deal. 

That’s why Wade keeps doing it, even when Nate tracks him down while he’s doing recon on a job or he’s using duct tape to hold a limb on until it heals or he’s had a shitty few weeks and answered the knock on his door with a gun in his hand. He does it because he gets a reward and the reward makes him feel special and wanted for a few fun minutes. 

This is a little different from the usual. It’s mid afternoon and Nate’s been laying next to Wade for hours maybe, waiting for him to open his eyes. Wade had woken up to Nate sitting beside him petting over his scalp, and hadn’t more than opened his mouth to ask what was up before Nate was doubled over, kissing the morning breath out of Wade’s mouth. 

Nate had shown up early the previous day, haggard, sporting a full beard and dark, heavy bags under his eyes. His shirt was ripped up, and while he wasn't actively smoking, he'd looked like he might start any second, and he'd smelled like he's been launching off fireworks. Before yesterday, Wade had last seen Nate in person maybe five days ago -- though it could have been six, time zones being weird and all. However many days it had been for Wade, it certainly had been more for Nate, whose luxurious beard was badly singed and in awful need of trim.

At the time Wade had been shoving supplies in a bag for a quickie job across the river. He'd planned to play it out overnight and make it a fun little working vacation ‘cause the client was paying by the hour and encouraged Wade to 'make it scary' for the target. Wade couldn’t imagine anything scarier than realizing you were about to die in New Jersey, but he was willing to waste 48 hours making it happen.

Nate showing up threw a wrench in that, but at least for once he hadn't fought much at all to come in and take his boots off, falling into Wade's bed with a grateful groan when they'd gotten that far. By the time Wade came back with a glass of water and some Pop Tarts he'd had in the cupboard, Nate was snoring, face-down and completely out of it. Seeing no point in wasting portable meal, wade took the Pop Tarts and went to make some poor bastard’s last few hours very unpleasant. When Wade finally got back, just after midnight, the glass was right where he'd left it and Nate was still snoring. 

A quick but thorough shower had been all Wade had had energy for before deciding he wasn't going to give up his bed selflessly after all, and gone and climbed in with Nate.

It wasn't how they usually ended up crashed out together, but it wasn't unheard of, and there was a certain gratification to the easy way Nate shifted to make room as Wade crawled in next to him. Wade stripped down to his boxers and Nate naked fit just right on the bed, one of Nate's arms slung over Wade's waist, Wade only half in the traditional little spoon position. 

Comfortable, easy, with the low rush of New York traffic six stories down to lull him, he’d fallen asleep just like that.

When Wade had come to, it had been plenty obvious Nate had been up for a while. Before diving straight in for a make-out-and-heavy-petting session, Nate had given Wade enough time to get a look at him in the noon-time light. The beard was all trimmed up, nice and neat and planned looking, instead of looking like Nate had been roughing it for a few months in the wilderness; his hair was clean and combed and that ugly scratch down his forearm was bandaged. He was completely dry, but he still smelled like the fancy soap he left in Wade's bathroom, and he hadn't bothered getting dressed after his shower. 

He'd had his shower, he'd gotten plenty of sleep, that just left food and a fuck before Nate would want to take off again so he could save the world or be a time cop or whatever he was up to these days. Wade figured he seemed perky enough to get back to it, if that was what he wanted to do. 

"One of these days, I'm gonna wake up to you just sucking me off and that's gonna be it," Wade says, and bites Nate's lip as a metal hand palms over his dick. Close like this, Wade can feel Nate grinning, and it feels so special, secret. Nate’s not known for his super smiley demeanor, but he plays with Wade, laughs and smiles and acts, in general, less like an uptight hero. "I'm gonna have to put on ring on it, fuck. That's so good, shit. Did you find something to eat yet? Not that I don't like the direction this is going, but I know you have a whole system and I don't wanna throw you off."

Nate kisses him again, beard rubbing rough against Wade's face as they move together. When Wade breaks away to arch back and gasp at the sensation of a big, implacable hand clutching hard over his cock, Nate buries his face against Wade's throat, kissing and biting and rubbing him raw with that coarse facial hair. 

All of it feels so good, from the beard-burn to the bruising grip of Nate's hand, Wade's not surprised to feel himself get close. Nate had learned to play Wade like a kazoo a long time ago, and it had been a bit since anyone else had touched Wade like this. 

"Is that what you want, Wade?" Nate asks, low Charlton Heston rumble right against Wade's throat. "You got something you want me to eat for you?"

There's no excuse to find that line, which is cheesy at best, so thrilling. Maybe it's just knowing that Nate will actually follow through, it's not just talk with him. Or maybe it's the way he’d dragged Wade into his lap and held him there now, jacking Wade off slow and rough while his own dick went untouched.

Nate's beard prickles against Wade's throat as he kisses his way up to Wade's ear. Wade's not in any position to do much more than pant and try to grind himself into Nate's touch, moaning as Nate's breath blows hot over his ear. 

"Tell me that's what you want, Wade."

“I can’t tell if you’re being insecure or just trying to get your ego stroked,” Wade manages, teeth grit as he tries not to whine or buck into that grip. “Less dirty talking, more dirty doing.”

Growling that low rumble of laughter that always makes Wade feel a number of squishy, soft emotions he would deny having ever experienced in any situation and certainly not for or because of _Cable_ , Nate drags Wade away from himself and flips him back against the bed. Wade only puts up a token struggle, and that mostly just because Nate had stopped touching his dick. He ends up on his stomach anyway, breath knocked out of him by the huge weight of Nate laying over him, holding him down. 

One of these days, Wade's going to remember that this is a use for his bed too, and he's going to invest in a nicer mattress. Or at least a newer one. The thick curl of a wire spring poking through the pillow top is disconcertingly close to Wade's eye, and it was only some kind of luck that had kept this from turning into a painful nightmare and ruining all the fun.

For some reason, no one ever wants to fuck the guy with eye-goo running down his face.

With Nate pressed against his back this way, Wade can't help feeling how hard Nate is. His dick is a brand of hot, damp flesh digging into the back of Wade's thigh, thick and heavy. When Nate speaks, the rumble of his voice reverberates through Wade, right into his _bones_ , and he's suddenly very glad no one's touching his dick right now, because Nate would never let him live it down if he came untouched from a little dirty talk.

It's not even creative dirty talk. 

"I wanna hear you say it," Nate purrs, grinding idly against him. It's dumb, senseless motion, the kind of impulsive little twitches of the hips that tell Wade Nate's brain's pretty well checked out. He's like that sometimes, after one of those future jaunts, needy and way sluttier than he usually lets himself be. "Wanna hear that pretty voice tell me how bad you want me to eat you out."

Completely reasonable that Wade needs a few steadying breaths, since his useless wriggling does nothing to get him the friction he wants or the freedom he'd need to spur things on more directly. It at least gives him a chance to pull back from the edge, but it's still a close thing, and Wade thinks Nate can tell. 

Once he's sure he can trust his voice to stay steady, he heaves a little sigh. "Awful needy," he says, like this is some kind of imposition on him, not something he's clearly very, very into. "Don't you have a whole little army of groupies telling you how great you are all the time when you're not here?"

"They're not you," Nate says airily, like that should be obvious, like it's such a simple fact Wade not knowing it must be a joke. His beard rubs rough, so good and so scratchy, against Wade's skin as he kisses at the back of Wade's neck and down his shoulder blade. "They don't sound like you. Don't _feel_ like you."

Wade can't stifle his eagerness, knows he's breathing too loud and that Nate can feel the want pouring off him even if he can't pick up individual thoughts. Wade could say anything now, keep trying to play indifferent to the idea, but it wouldn't matter because Nate would know, and Nate would still be a smug bastard even while he got to exercise his sadistic side by refusing to give what they both wanted until he _made_ Wade ask for it. Then he'd just be smugger, afterwards, because he got what he wanted, he made Wade do what he wanted.

God, his ego is out of control. It would probably count as villainous if Wade knowingly fed into that, and Wade's been trying real hard lately not to be an actual bad guy. At least not to anyone other than some bozo in New Jersey who pissed the wrong rich dudes off, maybe. 

Point is, he figures it's best for everyone involved if he does the opposite of the thing that'll give Cable an even more ridiculously swollen head. 

"I want you to eat my ass," he says, a little too fast, forcing the words out of himself before he can stumble over and around them. "Please, fuck, okay, I really want you to eat my ass, Nate, please. That's what I want, c’mon, lets go."

He's happy, for once, to have the words knocked out of his head, trailing off into a low, happy moan as Nate manhandles him up onto his knees, settles in behind him, and immediately goes to town. His beard chafes, every swipe of that hot, wet tongue over his hole accompanied by the burn of bristly facial hair against the tender flesh. It hurts in an exquisite, sharp sort of way, the kind of pain that embellishes pleasure, makes it better.

The thing is, Nate's good at this. He's always been good at it, but the enthusiasm and the newness of his beard, all the mindlessly hungry little noises he's biting out as he eats Wade's ass like it's fine dining, it all comes together to make this almost dizzyingly good. Wade's helpless, drooling against the mattress and digging can his fingers in for purchase where he can as he tries to rock back onto Nate's face. His dick is dripping, jutting hard and ugly from between his thighs, and he wants to get a hand around himself but he also doesn't want to move at all, in case Nathan stops. 

He'd let Nathan keep him here forever, even if it meant he himself could never cum. Dragged right to the edge and forced to walk the crumbling ledge of his release, Wade wants equally to cum and to be allowed to just stay like this forever.

Always sensitive, the beard quickly starts to go from strangely rough to ticklish, and every time Wade writhes, or tenses, or shivers away, Nathan bites at him. The pain of teeth digging into his thighs and marking up his ass wars with the gentle, coarse tickling, both sensations coming and going like tides as Wade tries to hold still and fails.

It feels like forever, like Nate’s beard had time to rub the flesh off Wade’s inner thighs and the back of his balls, before Wade gives in and tries to cry uncle. Nate barely pauses, slapping Wade hard -- hard enough it’d leave a hell of a bruise on anyone else -- and groaning as Wade clenches, crying out against the mattress. 

How the fuck something can be so overwhelming and also just purely not enough, Wade doesn’t know. He wants to cum, he _needs_ to cum, but he _can’t._ If Nathan would just give him _something_ , just a little more, he’d be fine, but as it is, it feels like his heart is going to crawl out of his mouth and his brains are going to drain out his nose. He’s dying, is the point here; he’s dying and Nate is willfully killing him in a slow, sexy torture. 

“Oath, I missed that,” Nate says, holding Wade still when he immediately tries to kick him for stopping. “Love hearing you lose your grip. Didn’t even realize you were talking out loud, I bet.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Wade snarls, doing his damnedest to ignore the disgusting way his chest seizes at that, at the idea of Nate _missing him_ , _loving_ ~~_him_ ~~ something he did… “For fuck’s sake, finish what you started you sadistic sonnovabitch, you can’t leave me ha-hngaah!”

All Wade’s irritation evaporates, Nate’s tongue back to work, the hand that had been restraining Wade’s leg sliding along his inner thigh and teasing up, up towards what Wade needs but so slowly. Glacial, because if there’s anything that can be guaranteed to get Nate off, it’s tormenting Wade, keeping him on that razor’s edge.

Wade does his best to keep quiet now, knowing his babbling was a reward in and of itself to Nathan and not wanting to give it to him when he was being a teasing bastard. He manages to wriggle just enough to get an arm under his face, biting at his own forearm to stifle himself. As with Nate’s intermittent bites, the pain both adds to and warps the general sense of pleasure, a frisson of hurt to round out the cacophony of good. 

There are actual tears rolling down his face, thighs quivering and mouth slack against his arm, when Nate finally gets his hand on Wade’s cock. Every swipe of Nate’s tongue, each tickling, rough pass of that beard over his skin, makes him gasp and jerk, and Nate barely squeezes him before he’s shooting off, hot ropes of cum hitting the bare mattress beneath him.

For a few excruciating minutes, Nate keeps going, humming in satisfaction as Wade tenses and then goes boneless, held up only by Nate’s hot, gripping hands. Only when Nate decides he’s done is he allowed to collapse flat, right in his own puddle of cooling cum. Nate pressed in close beside him, and when Wade doesn’t move on his own, wraps one arm around Wade and drags him in close enough for Wade to bury himself in Nate’s coarse chest hair. Like this, Nate’s beard brushes rough and tickly against the top of Wade’s head with every breath, working a shiver up Wade’s back each time.

It takes a bit of time for Wade to feel fully back in his own skin, and when he finally does, he nuzzles between Nate’s fat pecs just so he can feel the dissonance of TO to one side and flesh to the other. Sweet, sweet titty heaven. He lets himself stay like that, not really able to breathe but too content to worry about it, before he leans away enough to comment, “Pretty sure two guns were cocked back there, but feels like only one fired.”

“Well, I imagine you’ll have to do something about that” Nate says, dragging Wade up the bed, the whole awful mattress screeching as they move to fit better together. Nate kisses like he could do it all day, like neither of them have anywhere else to be, like his tongue wasn’t just in Wade’s ass. It’s nicer than those first kisses, in spite of where Nate’s just been and what his mouth has been doing. This kiss is slower, but hungrier; Wade’s conscious enough to get his arms around Nate’s shoulders and hold him there just a little longer than Nate wants, so he’s short of breath when they finally break apart.

“Gross,” Wade breathes, and licks his lips to show he doesn’t really care. “How late do I get to keep you?”

Nate grins, rolling onto his back and dragging Wade half onto his chest. The position makes it much more comfortable for Wade to get a knee between Nate’s thighs and feel him rock up into it, chasing the pressure. “I’d say that depends on you, don’t you think?”

Flattering, Wade things indistinctly, that Nate should keep coming here when he needs these breaks. Real ego boost, for sure.

“Oh, I am so glad I cut that Jersey job short for you,” he says, moving to straddle Nate properly. “Just so happens, I’m officially on vacation, so you’re not getting out of this bed for a while.”


End file.
